I’m 23!! Well not for a few more months, but still! I’m getting old… One day I’ll wake up and see the lines in my face and know that I’m 38. The next day I’m 52. And the next day I put a gun to my head. Its probably the same for everyone, all through your childhood you wish you were older. You’ll get to watch the movies you couldn’t before, you’re legally allowed to drink and drive although not simultaneously and definitely not in that specific order, you can get laid, well you could… and you can be the boss for a change. Again… you could.
But when you finally cross the whistlepost you wish you were a kid again. No, I don’t know what a fucking Whistlepost is… what’s a Wonderwall? So there.
But seriously, I’m so afraid of being old, I’d rather be dead. I know what my old age will bring with it… No hair by 35, Losing my memory, Losing my pants, Arthritis, Respiratory disorders, and possibly annoying grandchildren. Theeen it kills me. You don’t die of old age, you die because the damn thing craps so hard on you that you start waiting to meet your maker just so you can gripe about the whole sucky affair.
See, you start out in life all wrinkly and helpless and constantly wetting yourself. And you end that way too. The difference is that when you’re old, no matter how helpless you are, no one is willing to put a tit in your mouth!
These days there are three kinds of people. Those who live in the fast lane, those who wish they lived in the fast lane and those who don’t live in the fast lane because they hate the fast lane. And by fast lane, I mean keeping up with the times. I honestly don’t know which of these categories I belong to. Now there is hardly such a thing as a mistake. It’s like your computer. No matter how bad you screw up… you always have options. Whether it’s a restart or a re-format, you can always fix your cock ups with little or no consequences. I like that. But I also like simpler times. When you had to work for everything you earned. When there was no BPO industry. When how much you got out of something depended on how much you put into it. When everything wasn’t available on DVD. When teachers taught lessons. When The Internet was the internet. And when King Kong vs. Godzilla scared the crap out of me.
Where are we now? Over the last decade or so we’ve been hurtling across barriers faster than ever and now I don’t know where we can go from here. There aren’t many frontiers left to conquer. Unless they can send someone into yesterday and tell themselves to slow the hell down or we’re all gonna fall off the edge into deep, deep, deepness. But that’s all that remains to do… tinker with time and space. And I believe they’ve started to try already, accelerating electrons to faster than the speed of common photons, so they can see it arrive even before it’s left.
We’ve altered our own reality enough to the point where it’s often hard to tell what’s real and what isn’t. We’ve made and remade superheroes and monsters so believable that it wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary if they jumped right off movie screens. And we’ve converted books to tape. What literature? Google has replaced dictionaries, thesauri and encyclopaedias. And the once gigantic computer now fits neatly into a shirt pocket, adding to the fact that nowadays people give off more radio waves than bio-waves; a cyber population can’t be very far off.
I think that the true measure of a civilization is not its use of technology and the extent of it, but it’s rein on technology.
You know that we are living in a material world and I am a material girl. Uhh, boy.
Additions:
41. Apparently I’m a Male Chauvinist Pig.
42. I can still sing along to most of the Spice Girls’ songs.Click here for the whole list.
Points to ponder:
> Did Scatman John want to be taken literally?
> Who scrapes Spiderman’s webs off the buildings?
> Why do we have Lips?
> Who is Richard Head?
DNA/Suzanne Vega – Tom’s Diner
Madonna – Material Girl
There’s a new buzzword going around these parts these days. And they spake “Metrosexual” and it was good. Not good!! I’ve known of only two types of sexual orientations for as long as I can remember. Now it seems they’ve discovered a third. Maybe a fourth even – Retrosexual! At this rate coming out of the closet may have to take on more literal connotations.
Apparently, to be “Metro” you must fulfill 2 requirements:
1. Be Heterosexual
2. Wear Pink
And voila, you’re now hip, trendy and Metrosexual! (When I say Metrosexual, imagine a big thundering voice saying “Metrosexual”. It’s a cool effect.)
Pink socks – Metrosexual, pink shirt – Metrosexual, pink tie – Metrosexual, pink jacket – Wedding Singer. Ok except for the last one, pink has become the domain of girly girls and metro-males. Hmm… methinks metrosexual may be more of a euphemism! What is the deal with this labeling business? I don’t know if this is some globe-sweeping phenomenon but it seems more like a catchword the media cretins here have picked up off the airwaves and now they’re throwing it all over the place like there’s no tomorrow. Stupid fuckers. I like pink shirts. I think they’re really dressy and when worn with the right trousers make great event wear. But if I have to listen to some asshole telling me that pink is the new red and I’m really with it, then I’d rather stick with the blues, browns and anything-but-pinks.
I really don’t know why this label had to be introduced. Apparently metrosexuals are heterosexuals with a touch of the homo. What the fuck?? Kiss my ass you defining bastards. This area gets complicated enough as it is without idiots polluting it.
Actually I’ve always fancied myself as quite a liberal minded chap and this hetero/homo deal never really bothered me. I felt that people were unnecessarily uneasy about the situation. That was until I came face to face with the reality of homosexuality. It’s strange how detached you can be from an issue until it hits you in the face and you’re forced to deal with it. So when so-and-so decided to come out of the closet I started to feel the uneasiness that I was previously skeptical of. I don’t know. It’s not as though I wanted to feel that way but suddenly he was not so-and-so anymore. Turns out I’m not as open minded as I thought I was or want to be. I still have to learn to be less of a bigot.
Here’s a slightly off one.
Of all the ways of dying that I can imagine, the scariest and simultaneously the most peaceful that I can think of is falling down. Way down. My terrace is just four floors up, but I still go up there and think about jumping down. I’m not suicidal just dreamy. Altophobic that I am, I still fantasize about flying. Not in a plane. Sometimes I think the only reason I want to fly is just so I can plummet.
At no other time will you have as much control over the moment of your own death. Drowning is accompanied by the panic of not being able to breathe. Being shot doesn’t guarantee instant death. Putting the gun against your head only comes with the anguish of having to pull the trigger yourself. Stepping into heavy traffic gets you smashed to a pulp but still no guarantee of death. Now you jump off a high rise. All this may sound really cowardly, but that’s not the point right now.
The instant after you step off has got to be, ironically, the most insanely peaceful moment that mortal life can ever offer. Once you take the plunge, there’s no going back and the pavement rushes in to greet your head. Every single care that you’ve ever had vanishes immediately and nothing matters anymore. If you close your eyes, you could be flying. Save for the fact that you left your stomach a few storeys above you, you might as well be a bird. Unless you’re some kind of monk, your mind could possibly never be clearer than this moment.
Of course this is all speculation. And speculation that I’ll never put to the test. But it’s nice to know or at least think I know, that there is an ultimate peace… but it comes at the ultimate price.
I just want to let it be known right away that in no way do I condone suicide attempts, leaping off buildings or any other structures exceeding 10 ft. in height. So kids, don’t look for Nirvana at the tip top of buildings, I don’t know that it’s there.
Ace of Base – Cruel Summer
I used to scoff at the so called “Angry young man” stereotype that was so popular in movies. But now I’m beginning to understand why the angry chap is more than just a stupid symbol of crass, unfettered youth. Anger doesn’t go away ever, it just subsides to somewhere below the surface. If you’re angry about something, you’ll probably be angry about it years later even. If you’re not then you’ve either forgotten or let it go in frustration. Which doesn’t mean that you wouldn’t be angry if it happened again… aha! So anger doesn’t disappear, you just choose to either ignore it or take action, each decision having its consequence. There’s big anger and little anger. There’s serious anger and there’s inconsequential anger. There’s an anger peak and an anger trough. Tempers may rise and anger may subside, but it remains a permanent fixture.
I am angry. It’s rarely blinding rage but it’s all of the little ones that add to the big ones to create a seething, foaming, explosive cauldron of hatred of the very humanity surrounding me and within me. Yes. By now you’ve figured it out too. Whoa. Who knew I was such an insane fucker! Yes. Insane? I don’t know. Go listen to some Simon and Garfunkel, asshole. That won’t make a difference but it should get you off my back at least.Of course I’m angry. If you’re not angry you can’t be alive, jacko. Do you think your prehistoric parentage survived by not getting pissed every time that pesky smilodon tried to take a chunk outta their asses? But that’s not even relevant now.
I’m angry. Because of every person who comes to the door when I’m trying to get some sleep; angry because of every time the maid comes late when I’m in a hurry to go out; angry because of constant cable blackouts; angry because of dead hyperlinks; angry because of people who won’t just stay the hell away from me; angry because of bastards who can’t spell worth enough to save their momma’s virtue; angry because of people who ask unintelligent questions; angry because babies are unintelligible; angry because of roads from hell; angry because of the lack of fuckers in uniform upholding the rules that are the very basis of their jobs; angry because of cyclists: save for those who do it as a sport, the rest are unholy pests to mankind; angry because of jaywalking motherfuckers who stroll across the street any time their great grand daddy’s ghost tells them to; angry because it’s a crime to crush them; angry because of dumbasses who don’t know that high beam isn’t the only setting on their headlamp; angry because of the dicks who know it and use it continually; angry because of politicians who don’t give a fuck about soldiers dying for their country; angry because I have to watch Canadian seals being clubbed to death on the news; angry because most people never witness these sights; angry because we are so malevolent; angry because of too many charities; angry because in spite of too many charities there are 4 year old children begging at traffic lights; angry because no one gives enough of a shit to do something about it.
I’m angry because our country is underestimated; angry because it is rightly so; angry because of our ever growing population; angry because the fucking majority don’t know any better; angry because of illiteracy… horrible, crippling illiteracy; angry because the pricks who are Bollywood high folk insist on talking in English even though their pockets are being filled to speak in Hindi; angry because of good music being raped into conforming to modern tastes; angry because there are so few creators of noteworthy music and literature; angry because I haven’t done anything noteworthy; angry because I might never; angry because I’ve missed the time of my life; angry because as much as you give, somebody will always want more; angry because children learn cruelty; angry because of overzealous religious sentimentalists; angry because I lose myself without thinking; angry because I hate too many people without showing it; angry because I love; angry because I can’t meet my own expectations; angry because I’m fucking stumbling through life.
I’m angry because I want to be. I’m angry because cursing feels better than ignoring the annoyance. I’m angry because of everyone who thinks this is just another exasperating tirade.
I’m angry because I can’t do anything about it all and even if I could, wouldn’t.
I get it.
Self censorship? You’re a fucking moron. Fuck you, asshole. Too much? Simon and Garfunkel.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
-- Dylan Thomas
Roy Orbison – Blue Bayou
A-Ha – Take On Me
Hip hop. I’m willing to bet there isn’t a civilized (and some not, even) country in the world which hasn’t been hit by the phenomenon. In fact I wouldn’t be surprised if National Geographic ran a cover story on rapping pygmies!
“I’m a P-Y-G, you can call me Rick. Only 3 foot 9, I got a 10 foot dick!”
Catchy, you say?
Hip hop has steadily been gaining momentum for the last decade or so, growing from its basic rap roots, with countless posers infiltrating the bastion of artists like Dr. Dre, Salt ‘n Pepa and Snoop Dog. More recently, there have been more new hip hoppers than I can count. But the most amazing part I’ve found is that there have been more successes than there have been flashes in the pan, which would indicate that hip hop music has been something of a short cut to success. “Get Rich Or Die Trying” somebody said. “Somebody”. That seems to be the prevalent attitude of most wannabe bad boys breaking out on the music scene. What about the music? Oh wait…this is hip hop. Somebody, please keep reminding me!
What has any of this got to do with me? Nothing really, other than I have to see it everywhere I go and know that it’s here to stay, no matter what I have to say.
What’s my problem? Why can’t I just live with it? Yeah sure, like the rest of the sheep. Sure the bling is attractive and the skimpily dressed girls obviously conjure up wild fantasies. But what has society come to when we reward the objectification of women and advocacy of irresponsible sexual behaviour, with zooming record sales?
There was a time when most everything that was bad in the world was blamed on rock and roll. Violence, teenage pregnancies, anti-socialism... Rock music always took the fall. And not a parent would have disagreed. Give me that time any day. I prefer the time when men acted like men and women fought for empowerment instead of dressing like sluts and “belonging” to their men, thus the pimp – hooker relationship that is being so freely advocated by people who are held up as idols. Rockstars had their share of women without having to strut around in music videos, followed by a bevy of semi nude skanks and “singing” to their fans about what Casanovas they were.
And if rock music could have been an instiller of violent behaviour, rap doesn’t exactly take a back seat. The cases of Tupac and Notorious BIG speak for themselves. But still, it’s projected as cool to walk the roads adorned with rings and chains, with pumped high tops, floating in the oversized sports gear of a winning basketball team and the butt of a hand gun protruding over your waistband. Now that’s hip! Or is it hop? I never know…
This isn’t an attack on the West; it’s a remark on how this so called culture seems to be eating away at the established cultures of the world. A de-evolution of sorts. Morals are diminishing to nothing more than a topic relegated to the classroom and Sunday school discussions. And there are very few vanguards of virtuosity left in the world. I don’t want to sound like a preacher because that’s the last thing I could ever be. I just want the world to not collapse on top of everything that it has built for itself over these nigh on countless years. Call me a prude, but I would never want my kid aspiring to be a “Pimp” or a “Ho”. And yet, kids/teens are huge consumers and, I’m guessing secretly, a major part of the target audience for the propaganda that is gripping every continent.
No doubt, awesomely talented performers do exist in this field. Dre, Tupac, Notorious BIG, Snoop Dog, Eminem, 50 Cent and the like have carved out massive names for themselves in the music industry, not by any luck. Irrespective of the lifestyle they portray, they are geniuses in their own right and do have my respect.
I don’t want hip hop to go away. No, I listen to it myself! It is fun after all. And everybody wants to envision a hedonistic lifestyle for themselves, where they can drive down the street in a blinged out Lowrider with their personal set of beauties in the back seat. But my world wouldn’t exactly come crashing down if I didn’t have those images in my head. All I’m wanting here is some form of human realization of the direction that we’re heading in. As it is, I’m already pretty sure that all those prophecies of inevitable doom are just waiting to be proven right and they’re being helped along by every technological advancement that we make. But what’s the point in living till the end of days if civilization itself breaks down?
Today I can still enjoy music that was created in the time before my parents even. I don’t think that 30 years down the line I will have much music of my own time to choose from.
Motorhead – The Game
Why do people hate Mondays? I don’t exactly like it like I like strawberries, but I don’t not-like it either.
Is it because the weekend is over and you have to get back to work and you have to wait a whole five days before you can even think about putting your feet up?
If you ask me, the real culprit is Sunday. Who would you hate more, the annoying old man who bangs on the door to break up the house party or the one who helps you through your hangover the next morning? (And by “one” I don’t mean “annoying old man”)
Yeah… Sunday is a cranky old neighbour.
Sunday signals the end of the week, ergo the end of the weekend. Sunday is a harbinger of work to come. Sunday says, “Tomorrow is Monday, dude!” Sunday carries a sense of dread and foreboding, knowing what’s around the next corner.
Monday brings no dread or at least it shouldn’t, because all the dread would have been used up on friggin’ Sunday!
Monday doesn’t really say anything. Monday just is. As are Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. But Friday… ah, Fridays are always something special.
Sunday was always the day I hated most. As a schoolboy, Sunday was first and foremost, church day. Later in the day, Sunday was the day to take the clothes to be ironed. I had to skip down to the laundry guys’ place with a bundle of Dad’s shirts and trousers and sets of my school uniform. The laundry guys were right next door to this dude who always had an Alsatian running in and out his front door. So I had to time my walk in and out of the launderers so I always missed the great beast. As would be expected, it didn’t always work. I hated Sundays.
Sunday was also the day to catch up on homework. In school and for years after, Sunday remained the only day of the week “available” for completion of journals, readings for which were obtained by hook or by crook. Failing which, they were beautifully invented. Assignments due always reached fruition well past midnight on a Sunday, as did the realization of forgotten ones.
Although I have little or no experience of Sundays off in a professional sense, Sunday was always the day at work, which brought the most customer traffic with it, leading to extended hours and shorter breaks. Customer service is a bitch.
All in all, there was rarely a Sunday that served up peace of mind and freedom to lay back.
So, my inference is that all the bad press about Monday is just a case of mistaken identity. The blame is laid on the shoulders of a Monday only because it is the first day of a prospective tumultuous week, whose arrival was heralded by Sunday to begin with. Sunday is the one who says, “The honeymoon is over and that thing you’re looking into is the barrel of your new father-in-law’s new hunting rifle...” By the time Monday comes around, the firing has already begun and any day could be as bad as the next.
If you’re the suicidal kind who’ll impulsively slip a nasty note under the boss’ door after work on Friday, drink yourself silly that night, wake up in surprisingly good spirits on Saturday afternoon and find yourself in the mood to party till 4 a.m. Sunday morning, don’t worry. You’ll still have 20 hours of Sunday left to wallow in regret and worry about the shit you’re going to be in on Monday morning.
Stay with me now.
Which of these days would be the worst? To die a thousand deaths on a Sunday of anxiety, or survive the tantrums of a portly, megalomaniacal fifty-something on Monday?
Well, to each his own.
Listen to Vanessa Paradis’ Sunday Mondays.
“The sea was angry that day my friend, like an old man trying to send back soup in a deli.” – George Costanza on Seinfeld.
Urge Overkill – Girl, You’ll Be A Woman Soon
Pulp Fiction!! This song has been haunting me with the image of an OD-ing Uma Thurman.
Roy Orbison – I Drove All Night
I know last week I put in the Cyndi Lauper version, but I love the original! And that video… Jason Priestley and a young Jennifer Connelly; what more could you want?
Aaaand, because this song gets me more pumped than Guerrilla Radio or Song 2 ever could, I’m just gonna post the lyrics to Killing In The Name Of.
A cautionary notice for those of you who dislike explicit lyrics like you dislike two headed snakes, you may take a walk now.
Rage Against The Machine, like groups such as U2 and more recently, Greenday, use their music to covey their political sentiment, as can be plainly seen. Ok, enough talking.
Killing in the name of!
Some of those that were forces are the same that burn crosses
Some of those that were forces are the same that burn crosses
Some of those that were forces are the same that burn crosses
Some of those that were forces are the same that burn crosses
Uggh!
Killing in the name of!
Killing in the name of!
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
Those who died are justified, for wearing the badge, they’re the chosen whites
You justify those that died by wearing the badge, they’re the chosen whites
Those who died are justified, for wearing the badge, they’re the chosen whites
You justify those that died by wearing the badge, they’re the chosen whites
Some of those that were forces are the same that bore crosses
Some of those that were forces are the same that bore crosses
Some of those that were forces are the same that bore crosses
Some of those that were forces are the same that bore crosses
Uggh!
Killing in the name of!
Killing in the name of!
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya, (now you’re under control)
And now you do what they told ya, (now you’re under control)
And now you do what they told ya, (now you’re under control)
And now you do what they told ya, (now you’re under control)
And now you do what they told ya, (now you’re under control)
And now you do what they told ya, (now you’re under control)
And now you do what they told ya, (now you’re under control)
And now you do what they told ya!
Those who died are justified, for wearing the badge, they’re the chosen whites
You justify those that died by wearing the badge, they’re the chosen whites
Those who died are justified, for wearing the badge, they’re the chosen whites
You justify those that died by wearing the badge, they’re the chosen whites
Come on!
Yeah! Come on!
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me
[start the screaming, baby!]
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me!
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me!
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me!
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me!
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me!
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me!
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me!
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me!
Motherfucker!
Uggh!
I’m 23!! Well not for a few more months, but still! I’m getting old… One day I’ll wake up and see the lines in my face and know that I’m 38. The next day I’m 52. And the next day I put a gun to my head. Its probably the same for everyone, all through your childhood you wish you were older. You’ll get to watch the movies you couldn’t before, you’re legally allowed to drink and drive although not simultaneously and definitely not in that specific order, you can get laid, well you could… and you can be the boss for a change. Again… you could. 
